


In All, But Blood - Part 0: Myths of the Gotei

by Edo_Hikaro



Series: In All, But Blood (a reboot of Bleach) [1]
Category: Bleach, Bleach (reboot), Original Work
Genre: Alternate Canon, Bidanshi-ai, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Buddhism, Canon Compliant, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Implied Relationships, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, M/M, Male Friendship, Mysticism, Other, Partners to Lovers, Partnership, Philosophy, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Thousand Year Blood War Arc, Reincarnation, Seireitei, Shinto, Soul King - Freeform, Spiritual, Supernatural Elements, Teacher-Student Relationship, Zanpakutou
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21782335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edo_Hikaro/pseuds/Edo_Hikaro
Summary: How did Soul Society begin? For that matter, how didsoulsbegin?Whatare souls? Andwhateverhappened to Ukitake?A lyrical tale, retold in the mother of all flashbacks reaching far back into the dawn of creation, beginning from a single gesture made on Winter Solstice Day one year after the end of Yhwach.
Relationships: Kyouraku Shunsui/Ukitake Juushirou
Series: In All, But Blood (a reboot of Bleach) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1201744
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. Eye of the Mejiro

**Author's Note:**

> **STORY WARNINGS:** None, actually. Just keep an open mind, and you will be able to enjoy this. You do not have to know or understand anything about Buddhism, Shintoism or any Asian religion or mythology to understand the creative devices used for this story. The whole point of doing this reboot is to bring to Western minds the nuances of Asian beliefs.
> 
>  **When reading a work-in-progress:** Neil Gaiman said it best when he said writing is like painting, you go over the same parts again and again until the whole picture is just right. This is how I write before I read Gaiman's quote. Published chapters will continue to be refined as I go along to be cohesive with the coming chapters.
> 
> Comments, public or private, all welcomed. Feed a struggling author's soul! **Original ideas and original plots abound. Please _do not copy_ without asking.** Ask for collaboration if you like my devices! Despite me being a language-snob, I _really_ do not bite, promise!
> 
> **NEWS HISTORY:**
> 
> **29 December 2019 -** A _huge_ thank you all subscribers, bookmarkers, emailers, Tumblr followers and messengers, and all who patiently check and recheck my updates! I was hospitalised for three months this year, and while still writing, it was _taxing_. The biggest challenge with this series is keeping plot, characters and theme canonical while extrapolating them into original developments that stay true! This Part 0, ' _Myths of the Gotei_ ', is my answer to all the unanswered questions and unsatisfactory answers in published canon, but also the launchpad to take _BLEACH_ into my own direction. My agent is waiting for all drafts for vetting and editing before approaching Kubo to commence rights discussions - if that happens, slash versions on AO3 will have to be taken down.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year past the end of Yhwach, Winter Solstice Day dawns clear and silvery for the first time. A little, olive-feathered bird breaks free of the frosted bamboo grove bordering an ancient land basin north of the Ugendō. As it soars into glacier-blue skies with its trilling song of triumph, one white-ringed eye spies upon the snowy fields two faithful officers keeping vigil, and a pair of conjoined souls spending the last moments of their entwined lives together. They speak of things, of a final legacy for Souls, of life, and the future of the Seireitei.
> 
> Then a red-crowned crane descends from the heavens, bringing the beginning of a final mission.
> 
> And the solace of memories from a cosmic antiquity aeons long past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Amai'take** ( _pron_.) / _ah-mine-tah-keh_ / (Kanji: 甘い竹), meaning ' _Sweet Bamboo_ ', a term of endearment by Kyoraku Shunsui for Ukitake Jūshirō, whose family name 'Ukitake' (KN: 浮竹) means ‘ _floating bamboo_ ’.

* * *

**Mejiro** ( _n_.) / _may-jee-roh_ / (Kanji: 目白), genus _Zosterops japonicus_ , a small, olive-green Japanese songbird whose black eyes are distinctively ringed in white. They mate for life, hence are the subject of many genres of Japanese art.

* * *

A little, olive-green bird flitted between white-frosted, jadeite trunks, flashing emerald as it darted through silver sunbeams. Finally, with a frenetic flutter, it burst through dense bamboo canopies into clear, glacier skies, trilling sharply in triumph, its fluting notes swirling into icy winds. Soaring and wheeling over a white, gleaming, unspoiled expanse, on each turn one white-ringed, black, beady eye slanted down at the trail below – a lonely, furrowed line curving from the frosted bamboo groves out into the pale noon light, carving through pristine snow and winding past a solitary stand of tall, snow-capped, grey boulders.

In the lee of the tall boulders, two figures sat hunched over a small, flickering campfire, as still as the stones behind them. Hands tucked deeply into long sleeves, arms wrapped snugly over katana resting upright against them with hilts extending past their shoulders, the pair rested the side of their cheeks against their scabbards, their faces worn and greyed, and eyes smudged dark with fatigue. The black-goateed man appeared more strained, wearing an unkempt growth of black stubble over the lower half of his rugged face up into his sideburns, and tufted shocks of black hair spiking wild and shaggy above his thin, white, braided headband. His companion, a petite, gamine, young woman, bore lines of deep grief upon her face and glittering cracks of in her grey eyes beneath her smooth, cropped cap of straight, dark-blonde hair. Both were heavily bundled in beige, quilted, long cloaks of similar make, and kept the hems of their thick cloaks tucked securely beneath their feet.

Both shone with fierce resolution in their expressions.

Neither spoke, and neither moved.

As the trilling song of the little, green white-eye faded, the man raised his head and peered searchingly at the furrowed trail several paces away, his grief-stricken, black eyes tracing where the track drew past their small camp before it vanished around the boulders.

There was no one upon the trail.

Craggy face bowing, he lowered his eyes again and leaned his cheek back against his hilt, his expression pained, but still determined.

His slight movement was silently tracked by the saddened, grey gaze of the young woman beside him, though she said nothing.

As the pair resumed their vigil, the furrowed trail curved on past them, wound about the boulders, then straightened as it stretched out into open fields of unspoiled white, ploughing uninterrupted through smooth, cold powder towards the west.

Onwards the trail went, then as it neared the edge of the land, it finally came to an end in a small drift of disturbed, white powder, the stirred and scrunched snow disappearing beneath the edges of a stacked pile of thickly quilted, faded patchwork blankets.

As icy, gentle winds blew over the right side of the pallet of quilts, the corner of the topmost padded blanket flapped lazily, obscuring and then showing the gilded, bronze-capped ends of a pair of curved, dark scabbards. Both were of dark, well-oiled cherry wood, both finely etched and inlaid with mother-of-pearl filigree of sakura blossoms and leaves, the matching motif repeating upon both rectangular, gilded bronze guards of the long hilts. Each hilt was bound in fine, deep-sapphire silk threads wound in an intricate herringbone weave which left a vertical column of diamond-shaped windows displaying the glistening, dark-maroon ray skin beneath. The longer of the pair bore the distinct, pronounced curve of a tachi, the shorter the slight curvature of a custom wakizashi spanning slightly more than half the length of its longer companion. In the direct beam of the stark, noon light, very faint notches and nicks speckled the curved length of each scabbard, and the silk of each hilt gleamed a darker sheen two-thirds below its bronze guard.

The cold breezes blew on, mussing the long edges of the copious pallet of thick quilts, then lifting up and flipping over the left edge of the topmost blanket to reveal a single, long, dark scabbard of plain mahogany. Its only adornment was the deep, rich lustre of its polish, and the singular, elegant grace of its length and curvature, both traits balanced delicately between those of a tachi and a katana. Resting snugly against the mouth of the scabbard was the hilt guard, an undecorated, rounded oblong, bronze piece polished to a high shine and inscribed with four hieroglyphs along each long side, totally eight hieroglyphic characters in all. The long hilt itself was similarly bound in fine silk threads in the same herringbone weave, except that it was of a deep, blood red and the diamond-shaped windows showed the matte lustre of dark-chestnut shark skin. In the pale sunlight, the middle portion of the long hilt glistened a darker blood red.

And in between the three blades were the seated forms of their two masters, their frames huddled together upon the middle of the thick pallet, copiously draped and bundled beneath more layers of padded quilts, this time of faded silks. Their long manes streamed free over the worn fabrics, stirring in the freezing winds. One was a mane of wild waves gleaming dark as aged maple, the other a smooth, silken cascade of pure white shining even whiter than the snow. Both were facing the western skies, the white-haired one laying supported against the left shoulder of the dark-headed one.

Then the cold, white, powdery snow sprawled on smooth and unspoiled for several paces, and abruptly ended.

Past the sudden break, a deep canyon yawned, vast and unnaturally circular, the canyon floor far below presenting another pristine, gleaming expanse of snow filling the entire bottom of giant land basin. Opposite, barren, ochre rock rose up in sheer, vertical cliff walls, soaring into thick banks of snowdrifts rimming the edge of the land on the other side. Beyond, dazzling pure-white snow continued on, stretching empty and featureless into the distance, melding into uneven lines of rooftops lining the entire western horizon. The line of rooftops segued into dusky-blue, jagged peaks ranging out all along the horizon towards the right. While towards the left of the line of rooftops rose irregular, snow-capped, silhouettes of the tall and low buildings of a fortress city. Rising up above the eclectic skyline of the city was the shadowed, forbidding shape a towering, flat-topped mesa, and to the left of the mesa, nestled the outlines of broken, ruined towers.

With a sudden, final gust, the biting winds spiralled into the cloudless skies, fading the trilling song of the little, green white-eye. In the wake of winds and birdsong lay a frozen, white world, stirred only by a chilly whisper of a breeze, and glowing pallidly in sharp, silver light flooding down from the blinding, white smudge of the distant sun high in the zenith overhead.

The dark-headed one raised his head to look up at the cloudless canopies, the aquiline features of his lean, sculpted face ragged with deep exhaustion and barely withheld pain. Dark stubbles shaded his jaw and upper lip, and a black velvet eye patch was strapped over his right eye. A thin scar ran white and ridged from beneath the eye patch across his right temple, into his sideburn, to end where the top of his right ear should have been, the shell sliced off at a slant. His remaining eye was a silvery pewter, cracked with fissures of unarticulated hurt as he took in the perfectly clear, glacier heavens above.

“Finally stopped snowing last night,” he rumbled, his voice a mellow, baritone burr, thickened with restrained emotions. “‘Twas at the stroke of midnight exactly. I was watching, so I know.”

“Should have… rested…” drifted the reply from the white-haired one, in a voice breathless and thready, the mere ghost of a deep, lyrical tenor that once bore a warm, fluid vibrato.

The dark-headed one looked down and slightly to the left and buried the tip of his aristocratic nose against the silky, white crown nestled his neck.

“I will later,” he murmured, single, pewter gaze darkening with repressed anguish. Then he added, sardonically, “Had to be sure the Nyorai-bu[i] would keep their word and leave their pointless detachment to come clear the storm.”

“Do not be… so critical…” the whispered rebuke was filled with humour, nonetheless. “You too… will join… the Nyorai-bu… one day…”

“I doubt it,” the dark-headed one chuffed a laugh. Then gently rubbing his chin upon the white, silken hair, growled softly, “Still excusing them, Amai'take? After two thousand years of serving them at severe costs to yourself, they ought to have at least made every Winter Solstice Day clear and bright like today. Yet I do not recall we ever spent any of your birthdays without a blizzard freezing the entire Shikonkai[ii].”

“I serve… not them… but all… and ‘tis… my choice… I seek… no return…” A long, white, angular hand shakily rose, holding up a thin sheaf of papers filled with neat columns of small, tidy, hieroglyphic characters.

The skin of the hand was nigh colourless, near translucent in the biting cold, the long, tapering fingers visibly tremoring as they held the papers.

The sight prompted a stirring from beneath the quilts, so gently that it barely disturbed the large, sugegasa straw hat laying upon the quilts in front of them. A hirsute, lightly tanned, long-fingered hand poked out from within the heavy layers and pulled the thick blankets closer about the wan, angular face tucked below the dark, stubbled chin.

The white, shaky hand lightly waved the sheaf of papers. “This will help… our mission… flourish… after… I am gone…”

Agony cracked the lean, aristocratic face beneath the wild waves of dark maple, but was quickly concealed.

“Last page already, I see,” observed the dark-headed man instead. “Any thoughts? ‘Tis quite a lengthy outline of the structure of the curricula, but I wanted it be as detailed as possible for your review.”

“All chapters… approved…” The breathy reply was teasing, though carrying a serious undertone which belied the light humour of the weakened voice. “But… _who_ will… write them?”

“ _That_ , Amai'take, is something you should _never_ have worried about!” the dark-headed man chuffed a gentle laugh, baritone suffused with pride and also a great amount of mirth. “You know how news travel in the Gotei. Even weeks _before_ I announced that we are putting together the syllabus, Rukia-chan showed up at my office all polite and like, then formally _declared_ herself editor and Abarai-kun her assistant. Then Lisa-chan and Nanao-chan cornered me to _announce_ that the chapters on organisation and administration belong to them, Byakuya invited me to tea and in not so many words _ordered_ me to assign him the chapter on history and to only edit the chapter on Zankensoki since he was already polishing the first draft! I could not say no when he talked like that – I swear, he has turned what you taught him into an entirely new technique of Kuchiki diplomacy – and before I could leave, Rangiku appeared with a _message_ from her taichō, ostensibly Hitsugaya-kun just found an ancient tome in the rare books archives of the Daireishokairō and wished to know if I could help identify it. I should have known something was up when Rangiku ditched me halfway on our trip there, because when I finally met up with our resident prodigy, the youth showed me instead the outline he had already made for the chapter on our hallowed library and the Daireishin.”

“That is… _everyone_ …” The breathy voice was stunned.

“Not quite!” chuckled the dark-headed one. “Immediately _after_ I made the announcement at Taichō Assembly, _Mayuri_ accosted me in the corridors and _threatened_ to sour my entire sake cache if I so much as assign Kisuke even a _punctuation_ of the chapter on _his_ Twelfth Division and development bureau! Ai, Amai'take, for the first time, I _feared_ him! I verily believe he now feels we are completely even and he no longer has to tread on eggshells around me! And just when I had escaped from Mayuri, Shinji, Kensei and Rose all descended on me to tell me that they have already begun work with Love and Ichigo-kun in the Gense[iii] to write the chapter on all the races and worlds. By the time I _could_ get to my rooftop, I found Isane-chan already there – you know, I _must_ soon have a word with Nanao-chan about giving away my sake spot! Anyway, there she was, all _ready_ with her review draft on the chapter on Kaidō, telling me that she has taken the liberty of adding a history of our healing arts beginning from the time of Kirinji-sama – and you simply _must_ be told this, Kiyone-chan was right there with her sister _telling_ me she has added to her sister’s draft the complete herbology and elemental Kaidō you developed!”

“Ai, Kiyone…!” The soft, breathy laugh was filled with warm affection.

“Then, _finally_ , when I _could_ sit down to some private time with my sake and Katen, my Denreishinki buzzed and what do you know, ‘twas Kisuke calling to say that Tessai, Hachigen and himself are developing a dedicated chapter on Kidō, and before I could get a word in edgewise, he passed his phone to Yoruichi who told me that Soi-Fon and her are already started on a dedicated chapter on Hohō, and _then_ I had _both_ of their voices ringing from my phone _telling_ me to _please_ remove both sub-chapters from Byakuya and that with all their deepest respect, of our four primary combat schools I should limit myself to Zanjutsu and Hakuda! You should have heard them, Amai'take, especially Yoruichi, polite as only the Shihōin Clan can be but so _bossy_! How could I say no? Besides, if there are any who has _earned_ the honour of being the first to write a Kidō text for the first time in our history, they are Tessai, Hachigen and Kisuke, not the Kidō Corps.”

“Agreed…!”

“Aye. _But_ , that is not all! Next day I received two official acceptances, from our new friends in the Central Forty-Six and from the Academy Head. They will be writing their own chapters but the thing is, I had not even sent them my requests yet! Then Hisagi-kun came to see me about his proposal of taking the Seireitei Communications independent but during _that_ , slid in that he was providing all diagrams and pictures all the writers need and would be letting me approve the final layout and design of the textbooks in a few days, and then presented me with the requisition form for countersigning Kensei’s extremely large request for printing ink and paper and binding materials for getting the textbooks printed. And when I asked how he was going to perform the deliveries and distribution, told me not to worry because Zaraki and Iba have already commandeered the Eleventh and Seventh to do all those manual tasks. Then he said Humans nowadays have what they call dee-gee-tal versions, so he will be publishing in those versions as well. Really, he explained it all to me but there is no way I can repeat what he said, I still have _no idea_ what he was talking about.” There was a split instant’s pause, a satisfied grunt, and then, “And _that_ , Amai'take, is _everyone_.”

A brief silence followed.

And then, with soft amazement, “I did not… expect…”

“Ai! What did I always tell you? The mission of the Gotei is to keep the balance of Souls, that means the burdens of the Thirteenth are the burdens of the Gotei!” laughed the dark-headed one, both pleased and fondly exasperated. “‘Tis why I am adding a foreword to the first volume. To give an abridged account of how the Gotei arose, why and how you, and hence the Thirteenth Division, were given charge of all affairs with the Gense, how you seeded the idea of a Gense Gotei Garrison and waited so patiently for centuries for the time to be right to launch it. I am assigning your extremely learned Kajōmaru-kun to tackle this piece, perhaps with the assistance of Kira-kun. It will help distract the young man a bit from his woes.”

The pale hand shakily lowered and put down the sheaf of papers, resting over the straw hat. A white, tapered fingertip began tracing the large, red, five-petaled shape painted over the top of the hat, the heart of the blossom situated in the centre of the conical peak.

For two millennia, that gesture had always indicated a troubled mind.

At length, a soft objection came. “Hidetomo… he will be too… worshipful… of me… not suitable to… write foreword...”

“If Kajōmaru-kun wishes to pay tribute and homage to the taichō and sensei who lifted him to where he is today, he will receive unanimous support,” the dark-headed one said firmly.

“But ‘tis… unnecessary…” protested the weakened tenor. “These are to be… textbooks… for new Human… Shinigami recruits… spare them the… idolatry… please…”

“ _Precisely_ because these are textbooks for Human recruits, it is all the more important that they should know about the founder of their garrison.” The baritone was resolute. Then before another protest could rise, the hirsute hand reached out once more, this time to gently take the sheaf of papers and deftly, fold the sheaf back into half, before withdrawing with them out of sight into the thick layers of quilts. “I will add in the foreword to the outline then submit the draft to Central Forty-Six.”

There was a breathless, exasperated sigh, followed by a pause.

After a few moments, the reedy voice requested, “Help me up…”

Without a word, the dark-headed one complied, gently and delicately raising the other.

As the pale one unsteadily sat up, long, white hair slipped down in heavy, silken streams about a slender, oval-shaped face, unlined and youthful, bearing no trace of the millennia passed. The features were finely wrought, of gentle, classical lines, but thinned to such brittle delicacy with skin paled to such colourlessness, it was as though his very life was ebbing away.

Yet, as he scanned the clear, western skies, his eyes shone with the light of deep cosmos, their mahogany depths keen with ageless wisdom and the traces of an old, old power.

“Every… Winter Solstice… saw heavy… snowfall…” he murmured. “So cold… even Shinigami… feel the bitterness… reminds us that… we are not yet free… from endless Tensei[iv]… endless suffering…”

“ _This year_ is special,” insisted his brother, mellow baritone audibly hardened. “As well it should be. I will _personally_ take issue with the Nyorai-bu if so much as a single snowflake falls.”

A soft, reedy chuckle shook the quilt-bundled frame of the pale one. “Nyorai-bu… do not… control weather.” So saying, the thin, white hand rose once again, trembling visibly as the pale palm opened up towards the skies.

A smudge of pale-blue light began to glow above the white, quivering palm, quickly becoming brighter, coalescing into shining, pale-blue ball. Then one long, white finger flicked the bright sphere gently and, like a bubble, it softly floated up, rising faster and faster into the air, diminishing until it finally blended into the clear, glacier skies.

Then, a moment later, lacey swirls of white clouds began spreading outwards from where the light ball had disappeared.

“Snow… will come again… tonight… my last gift… to all in Shikonkai…”

With a pained, suppressed moan, the dark-headed one leaned forward and gathered his frail brother against his chest, dark stubbled chin bending over one thinned shoulder.

“For _once_ , Jūshirō, think of _yourself_!” The baritone was plaintive. “That was the _last_ of your strength!”

“Strength I… no longer… need…” Wavering, the pale one fell back gratefully into his brother’s embrace. Long, ebony, gull-wing brows arched with slight mirth. “Not to… worry… Shunsui… I have… a little bit… leftover…”

A frustrated grunt escaped the one-eyed, dark-headed one. “Then instead of being pragmatic about the costs to yourself like always, can you _please_ indulge me this time and _save_ your power?”

Jūshirō’s lips curved into a grin. “But I have… indulged you… our entire lives… my young brother.”

Shunsui instinctively opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again with an audible snap. Sighing in resignation, he simply drew his elder brother even closer and said nothing of the thoughts still clearly roiling in his single, pewter eye.

Jūshirō nestled contentedly, clearly fatigued by even the brief moment of sitting upright on his own. However, his dark, brilliant eyes continued to scan the skies with anticipation.

“Powers rise… powers fall…” he murmured thoughtfully, with soft deliberation. “Life begins… life ends… and existence repeats… Matters not… what we do… or what we leave… Legacies are like… the sakura… they bloom… they thrive… briefly… and then they fade… Then they bloom… again… But _we_ … we remember… each season of bloom…”

Shunsui harrumphed noncommittally.

“Each season… is different… from the others… for sakura trees… bloom differently each year… And so… we remember each season… differently… In the end… how each season… bloomed… is all that stays… with us…”

“And so it does not matter what we did, only _how_ we did it?” Shunsui asked quietly. “Because ‘tis not the end itself, but the way we reach that end which endures in our hearts and our Souls, and shapes our future decisions?”

A soft, breathless laugh rose from Jūshirō. “Finally…! You understand…! Only took you… two millennia… be glad… that I am patient…”

A freezing gust blew and Shunsui instinctively cuddled his brother tighter.

Then turning his head, he buried his entire face against the white, silken hair covering a wan temple.

When he spoke again, his baritone was the barest whisper.

“What am I going to do without you?”

Dark, shining eyes drifted to the white-shrouded skylines sprawling away on the lands to their left, tracing the eclectic silhouettes until they rested upon the decimated outline of the dark structure atop the plateau of the towering mesa.

“Finish rebuilding… the Seireitei… like we said…” Jūshirō replied, thready voice pragmatic. “Then lead on… as Father wished you to…”

“Yama-jii never understood enough.” Shunsui’s baritone was low, choked, yet incongruously petulant. “He raised me and taught me, but ‘twas _you_ who _shaped_ me. All that is good in me, I owe to you. There is a place in my Soul shaped just like you. When your reiatsu ends, I _will_ be following.”

Jūshirō was silent for a while.

Then, with his whisper audibly saddened, “Why… do you always… make this… heavy promise?”

“Because ‘tis the only one I _can_ make,” Shunsui rasped in return, still the same reply as always.

Another silence followed, palpably sorrowed.

At length, with quiet cheer, Jūshirō offered, “Perhaps this time… we may be granted… some mercy… be allowed to… reunite… as brothers again…” Then his thinned frame shook with a soft laugh. “And I hope… next we meet… my mortal vessel will be… more robust…!”

Shunsui snorted, but a smile began curling his stubbled mouth. “Says the one women fall all over themselves just to be in his presence! Some men, too, if you have not noticed by now. And what about the woman of all women? Hanshi-sama loved you since you were sixteen! Me, we could reunite as fellow disciples, friends, lovers, family, even master and pet, I care not _as long as_ we reunite. _And_ as long as my next vessel does not come with such a jealous Zanpakutō Spirit that I am not even allowed to steal a kiss without hearing it for days afterwards! Ai, you are far luckier than I with the twins as your Zanpakutō Spirits!”

“They can be… a handful…” Jūshirō teased. “I doubt… you are the… sort to… tolerate… ancient… child Spirits…”

A distant honk floated from the skies, carried upon the gentle winds.

The frail frame of Jūshirō tensed, and he began to sit up again, a soft smile of welcome spreading across his wan face despite his unsteadiness.

Behind him, however, raw grief cut across Shunsui’s lean, aquiline mien.

“They are… coming…!” breathed Jūshirō with palpable excitement, unaware of his brother’s pain.

Shunsui only tightened his arms in response.

* * * * * * * *

From the distant depths of the shining, glacier-blue skies, a dark dot began to grow, rapidly enlarging until movements could be discerned. Soon, the dark, wavering shape began to resolve into distinct, flapping movements, and then even that became clearer, gaining size and clarity until a flying, bird-like outline could be discerned. Finally, the flying bird drew close enough to reveal great, snow-white wings skirted with ebony outwards from a snow-white body, a long, slender ebony neck, and dark, slim legs outstretched behind in flight.

It was a crane.

The pair of brothers sat waiting with bated breaths, one in anguish, one in anticipation, their two figures distinct upon their colourful pallet on the powdery snow.

As the crane came even closer, its long, rapier-sharp beak began glinting in the silvery sunlight, and it honked once more in greeting, loud and echoing this time, reverberating about the canyon walls as the great bird began circling the expanse of the snow-filled land basin, slanting its body with each pass before them to reveal a flash of a blood-red crown upon a smooth, elegantly curved, white head, and one shining, obsidian eye keenly strobing them from an ebony face.

“A Tanchō Tenzuru[v]…” breathed Jūshirō in wonder.

Shunsui closed his eye. Then lips tightening, he reached out from within the layers of quilts and wound his forearms around the frail form before him, locking his brother tightly against his chest and burying his stubbled face against thick streams of white hair.

Pale, shaking hands rose to cover the hardened muscles of hirsute forearms.

“Shunsui…” Jūshirō began breathlessly.

“Nay, not yet.” The baritone was strangled. “I cannot be as sanguine about this.”

“Ai, my young brother!” The deep tenor was conflicted, strengthened for an instant with deep empathy. Then, trying to alleviate matters, added with cheer, “‘Tis not every day… we see a… Tanchō Tenzuru. Will you… not watch?”

“ _No._ ” The reply was obstinate.

Jūshirō bit his lower lip, then silently exhaled and patted the forearms around his middle. Dark gaze returning to the skies, he watched their approaching visitor, his wan face now visibly troubled.

The crane was flying over the snow now, casting a gigantic shadow as it began descending in wide spirals, its wingspan four times as large as the tallest man, and its pure-white body far larger than even the largest male of the wild tanchōzuru of the flat wetlands in the far north. Then, with whispering soft flapping of its great wings despite its enormous size, the giant bird finally swooped low, coming into a running landing, long, slim legs soundlessly spraying cold, white, powder as it rapidly slowed.

It was still in motion when its form suddenly shone with blinding, iridescent light.

When the glare dimmed and passed, in place of the crane, a tall, broad, black-bearded bald man was briskly striding towards them over the powdery snow, his firm steps neither sinking into the deep drifts nor leaving a single trace of his passing upon the loose surface. The sight was no less strange than how he had arrived, for he wore a seemingly awkward pair of very tall, one-toothed, wooden geta on his fleshy bare feet more suited for treading over muddy ground than over deep, loose banks of snow.

Nevertheless, recognition lit the faces of the two brothers.

“Ho, laddie!” the large man greeted in a deep, booming voice as soon as he was within hearing distance.

Then as he came closer, piercing, black eyes could be seen observing them keenly from beneath thick, black brows, their gaze sharp as twin rapier points despite the calm geniality of his broad, fleshy face. His great, black beard gently stirred in the breeze, unveiling glimpses of a wide, hairy chest through the loosened front of his austere black kosode. And as he came to a pause before them, his white, long-sleeved, long haori flapped gently, his long string of huge, vermillion-red prayer beads softly clacking from about his thick neck.

“Greetings… Hyōsube-sama…” Jūshirō smiled held a soft welcome. “It has been… quite a while…”

“Aye, since you were a slip of a laddie of twenty-three,” agreed the big, bald man jovially, with a glint of remembrance in his black eyes. “I have been watching you since your bankai, whether you like it or not.”

Jūshirō chuffed a breathless chuckle. “I was young… and foolish…”

The piercing, black eyes softened as they regarded Jūshirō. “Young you were, indeed. And too soft-hearted, sentimental and naïve. Still too soft-hearted and sentimental for your own good, even if you are no longer naïve. But foolish? _Never_. The old rascal Genryūsai has the knack of always choosing more wisely than even the best of us, whichever existence he may be in.”

A spark leapt in the depths of Jūshirō’s dark, brilliant eyes. “ _Choosing_ …? _May_ …? Then Father… is he…?”

“He is still dead to the Shikonkai, if that is what you asking,” supplied the big, bearded man, then his black eyes glinted with humour. “But elsewhere, now that is another matter. He has become too irascible to quietly wait for his turn…”

Joy lit up Jūshirō’s wan features and for a moment, colour returned to the curves of his white cheeks. “Father… he still lives…!”

“ _Exists_ ,” corrected the big, bald man, though with kindness. “Lives is a mortal term, meant for mortals.” Then he smiled beneath his beard. “Where _you_ will be going, laddie, you will soon remember all the right terms.”

“ _Where_ he will be going? He will be spending eighty years in oblivion!” growled Shunsui, uncharacteristically harsh.

“ _Slumber_ , Kyōraku Sōtaichō,” corrected the big man again, sounding a little harder this time. “There is a huge difference. Do you not see that the brother of your Soul has more than earned his rest? Besides, eighty Human years will pass in a mere blink for the likes of us. ‘Tis a fair exchange.”

“ _Fair?_ ” Shunsui’s expression darkened, becoming almost thunderous. “Fair is if you return him now to the Nyorai-bu, instead of taking him to that horrid chamber up there! I never agreed to any of _this_!”

“‘Tis my decision…” Jūshirō interjected firmly, calm and resolute even if sorrow shimmered in his dark eyes. “My only regret… is leaving you… but this… is the best way…”

Shunsui said nothing to the soft rebuke, though his pewter eye remained angered.

And hurt.

A deep sigh came from the big, bearded man. Without ceremony, he sank his great girth down onto the snow, seating himself down cross-legged, oddly not stirring even a waft of the icy powder, as if he was not really there.

“Ask yourself this, Kyōraku Sōtaichō,” he began, his deep, booming voice softened to a gentle bass. “Do you truly believe that an eighteen-year-old Human boy would make a good Reiō? As advanced as Ichigo is, as much as he has already done for all of us, he still has not lived the life of an adult, nor bore the responsibilities of an adult. He still does not know the true meaning of being a parent. Or a sensei. And Isshin will have to come home, eventually.”

“But Yhwac– That _thing_ , _must_ it have a vessel? Can you not put it in a jar or something? Take your pick from Mayuri’s stash.”

“I would, if I have a jar that can speak. Or a Reigai or Gigai that will not disintegrate at the touch of that Reiatsu. We have tried everything, Kyōraku Sōtaichō. You _know_ this too. Or do you let Miss Ise Nanao read your reports instead, mmm?”

The chastisement rolled off Shunsui without effect, for he persisted, “How can you be so certain that thing _will_ vacate Jūshirō’s body at the end of eighty years?”

“Because it will completely dissipate before sixty years are up,” informed the big, bearded one. “We have been watching it, and testing it. It has not much sentience or power left. After sixty years, the memories will fade completely and only the _habits_ of decision-making and motor functions will continue, but even those will weaken as time passes. By the time eighty years is complete to the day, the remains of Yhwach’s Reiatsu will only have an additional day left. That one single day will be time enough for Ichigo’s Soul to takeover, as he was always meant to.”

Shunsui looked incredulous. “This means you can wake Jūshirō in sixty years instead! And return him to me!”

“ _Nay._ ” It was Jūshirō this time.

Voice trembling with fatigue, he said firmly, “I do not wish to return… to a vessel filled with the habits of Yhwach. Let them dissipate. Let the eighty years… run their course.” Then collapsing against Shunsui, he breathed, “By then… my Life Force… would have… depleted… I cannot… come back…”

“Even if you can, laddie, you _must not_. The Nyorai-bu is waiting for you,” stressed the big, bearded man, with great gravity. “You have kept your promises through all these Aeons. Done everything asked of you, and much, _much_ more than any Soul like yours should even have to bear. ‘Tis more than enough, laddie. Leave the rest to others. The time has come for you to be free of Tensei.”

Shunsui grew fretful. “But Jūshirō, Mayuri’s surgery, the procedures Hanshi-sama was developing with him, they _work_! He already brought back so many of us!”

“The waters of Kirinden will work even _better_ ,” interjected the big, bearded man. “With Mimihagi gone, there is nothing to impede the healing powers of the waters. Kirinji _can_ cure Jūshirō now far beyond what that hideously invasive process can do.” Then softening greatly, he asked, “But you know as well as I that this is beside the point. Even if Jūshirō’s body is cured, what of his _Soul_? Do you truly need to be reminded of _that_?”

At that, Shunsui fell silent.

“Be it by organ transplant or the waters of the Kirinden, neither of our methods will be able to replenish the Life Force taken from Jūshirō. You _know_ this. _That_ was essence of the Kamikake contract and the exchange is _immutable_. Can you bear to see your brother live out the rest of his days healed with no disease, yet forever an invalid? I know _I_ cannot.” Then the big man smiled kindly beneath his beard. “Like I have been repeating to you for nigh a year and hoping that you will finally hear, while in slumber, his Soul will be safe, secluded in much needed rest.”

Shunsui looked away, finally defeated.

As he stared out unseeingly at the snow-laden canyon, his single, pewter eye began to glisten.

Responding wordlessly, a pale, trembling hand rose and its long fingers began stroking a muscular, hirsute forearm.

The piercing, black eyes flickered as they scrutinised the pair. But then the moment swiftly passed for the bearded one softly, but decisively, said, “Kyōraku Sōtaichō… _Shunsui_. I do not know if Genryūsai ever told you this. If he did not, I will now. A very long time ago, _Ages_ before this Shikonkai came into existence, before the very concept of Humans was even thought of, a Soul meant for the Nyorai-bu returned to the mortal realms. For out of nothing except pure compassion, it made a vow. It would live countless lives as a mortal among mortals as a teacher, as a guide, as a benefactor to all others, stay and suffer within the cycles of Tensei through endless births, lives, deaths and rebirths, until all mortals have Freed themselves and transcended to higher realms. That one Soul vowed that it would be the last to leave any mortal realm. And when the race of Humans at last appeared, this Soul went among them, to carry out its vow among them. Since then a nigh hundred and thirty Human millennia have passed. And after all these time, the machinations of one Human Soul, Yhwach, at last disrupted this mission. Injuriously. For his doings left this Soul no longer able to carry on. And this is severe enough that for the first time since the Human race began, the Nyorai-bu are intervening. They now wish for this Soul to return to them. To recover. And finally, after Ages of labour and suffering, to rest.”

He paused, black eyes becoming intent upon Shunsui, and gently, but very firmly, finished, “That Jūshirō has given all that he has left now to this one last task, ‘tis not without great risks to all realities, but ‘tis the best way to resolve our difficult situation. The Nyorai-bu are watching, and watching with utmost care. To ensure that this final task _will_ be completed without harm to your brother’s Soul. At the completion of his mission, the Nyorai-bu will be waiting to Free his Soul back to where it belongs, to where his Life Force will be restored and forever safe beyond the cruel touch of the perpetual suffering of Tensei. But for that happy outcome to come to pass, you _must_ first let him go. In your heart. And in your _Soul_. Free him from all your Clingings, so that his Soul can move on with no more attachment to grieve him. I cannot imagine how hard this must be for you, but the truth is, the brother you are holding so tightly in your arms, he is _never_ meant to be there in the first place, Shunsui. Jūshirō’s Soul was never meant to be mortal.”

Shunsui made a strangled sound. When he looked back at the big, bearded man, his pewter eye was desolate. “Ichibē-sama, I need no one to tell me that! I first met Jūshirō when I was ten years old, when I found him in Hanshi-sama’s herb gardens burying withered snowdrops. He wore such terrible sadness, so I told him that boys did not weep for dead flowers. But he said he could not bear to pretend that nothing bad had happened. Chōjirō-jisan heard us, and that night he drew me aside and told me that it takes a greater strength to cry than to pretend nothing bad has happened. From that day on, I realised that the boy in Hanshi-sama’s sick rooms was not like the rest of us. And the two thousand years which followed only proved me right over and over again. Though I could never understand it, I always accepted it.” Then his arms clutched his brother even more, visibly desperate now. Bowing his face against the crook of a pale neck, he went on, hoarsely, “But I am understanding it now and… and I am _not_ accepting it! I am not you, Jūshirō, I do not have it in me to let you go! This is the greatest Clinging of all… _How_ can loving one’s own Soul be a cause for such _great pain_?”

A white hand rose and laid gently upon Shunsui’s dark, wavy crown. “You are… much stronger… than you know… my young brother…” The long, pale fingers began carding through the unruly strands with a rhythm they were clearly long accustomed to. “Please… understand… with the life left in me… I do not wish... to linger like this… for a hundred years… unable to even sit… Ichigo-kun… is too young… he needs to live his Human life… raise a family… experience love… like we had… I can spend... the last of my strength… to take his place... for a time... give him... the life... he deserves to have...”

Shunsui only tightened his embrace.

The large, bearded man watched the pair in silence, a deep and ancient recognition rising in his black eyes.

At length, he shifted slightly, one hand reaching into his kosode and withdrawing a small object.

As he slowly opened his fist, a brilliant, blinding golden light blazed.

There was a tiny, incredibly bright, golden bead floating within the heart of a small, crystal cube resting upon his large, fleshy palm.

Jūshirō’s dark eyes widened, and for an instant, their starlit depths flashed with pure, white, diamanté light.

“I _know_ … that light…!” he breathed, stunned.

Shunsui raised his head, a glistening track running down from his pewter eye. He stared at the tiny, brilliant, golden bead, then hesitantly, admitted, “Me too, my gentle brother… I _know_ it too…”

“Humans gave these relics the name Busshari[vi],” explained Ichibē. “We adopted the same term long ago, for it is perfectly apt. Human followers of the Nyorai-bu have long believed Busshari to be the mortal ashes of their teachers who attained Freedom from Tensei and left the mortal realms to join the Nyorai-bu. Most worship these beads as sacred, build shrines and temples to house them and pray to them. They believe that Busshari contain all the knowledge and wisdom left behind by their Freed teachers. But only very few know what these beads truly are.

“What are they?” Shunsui asked, compelled despite his pain and grief.

“Eternal receptacles of the memories and emotions of the Souls who made them,” Ichibē smiled. “They are coalesced into solid, physical states out of the reiryoku of Souls who possess adequate power to precipitate them into tangibility. Thus, each Busshari in existence is perfectly unique, for each is unique to the Soul who created it.”

“Whose was this, then?” Shunsui asked, a sudden light of speculation in his pewter eye.

“I am not surprised you asked that question, even if this golden light is familiar to you.” The deep bass was strangely sad. “You must know, there are Busshari… and then there are _Busshari_. There are _very_ few which possess the power to share their memories with the right Soul who touches them. This particular Busshari, is one of such few.”

“And I suppose you wish us to touch this one?” Shunsui surmised.

“Because you asked a very good question, Shunsui. As I expected you would, which is why I brought this with me. Call it my attempt to ease your grief, lad. Love, in all its forms, is a positive thing, ne? Yet, how can loving any Soul, much less one’s own Soul, be a cause for such great pain? How can love be considered as suffering at all? I can tell you all the answers, of course, but _how_ will you hear them? Will you hear them only as mere theories, far removed from any real effect on your Soul? Yours is a much higher Awareness than Humans, but even so you are still in the thrall of the Three Delusions which keep you endlessly trapped within the cycles of Tensei. The only way you will be able to truly understand, is if you experience these memories and their emotions as though they are your own.”

The single, pewter eye watched the golden bead warily.

“I have kept this one for a _very_ long time,” Ichibē added. “You will not be able to imagine how long it has really been. The best I can describe it to you is, I made this promise long before even the first light of the Shikonkai was birthed in the crucible of its sun. My vow is to present this at a time when circumstances are right.” He raised his other hand and, despite the largeness of his fingers, deftly flicked opened the top of the little cube. Then he held it out to the pair before him. “These are now the right circumstances.”

A white, unsteady hand began to reach towards the cube, only to be captured in a larger, tanned one.

“Nay, let me go first, Jūshirō,” Shunsui cautioned. “If it hurts, it will hurt me, not you.”

“It will not hurt you,” Ichibē assured. But then, solemnly, added, “However, I suggest both of you touch it at the same time. The burdens of memories are heavy at best, but the burden of _these_ particular memories are… let us just say that they are beyond the ken of mortals. ‘Tis best you share them. Burdens shared are burdens halved, as Humans like to say.”

Jūshirō looked at the tiny size of the bead with great doubt. “But… ‘tis so _small_ …”

“Cup both each of your palms together,” Ichibē suggested. “I will let the bead fall between them, and both of you close your palms together at the same time to catch it.”

“I am… slow now…” Jūshirō began, visibly daunted.

“I will close our palms,” Shunsui said. “You only have to keep your hand open.”

Brightening, Jūshirō held out his hand again, holding his palm open.

Carefully, Shunsui aligned the outer edge of his own palm against the outer edge of his brother’s pale one. Reaching out his other hand, he laid it flat over the back of Jūshirō’s opened palm, then tilted both their hands together to form a small crevice.

Then he nodded at the big, bearded man.

Wordlessly, Ichibē leaned forward and carefully, tilted the cube over the two conjoined palms.

Like a shining, golden, liquid drop, the busshari fell.

* * *

[i] Nyorai-bu / _neo-rye-buh_ / (KN: 如来部) means ‘Pantheon Of Buddhas’, with Nyorai / _neo-rye_ / (KN: 如来) meaning ‘Buddha’, the highest being, while the suffix -bu / _buh_ / (KN:部) is a collective noun to refer to a pantheon.

[ii] Shikonkai / _shee-kon-kai_ / (KN: 尸し魂こん界) means ‘Realm for the Souls of the Dead’, the non-Anglicised term for Soul Society.

[iii] Gense / _ghen-say_ / (KN: 現世) means ‘Living World’.

[iv] Tensei / _ten-say_ / (KN: 転てん生) means reincarnation.

[v] Tanchō Tenzuru / _tan-cho ten-zu-ruh_ / (KN: 丹頂天鶴) means ‘Heavenly Red-Crowned Crane’. Ten / _ten_ / (KN: 天) means ‘Heavenly’ or ‘Celestial’ as one of the character’s many meanings. Therefore ordinary red-crowned cranes are called Tanchōzuru / _tan-cho-zu-ruh_ / (KN: 丹頂鶴).

[vi] Busshari / _buh-sha-ree_ / (KN: 仏ぶ舎っしゃ利り) is the translation of the Sanskrit term ‘Śarīra’, believed to be the ashes of the Buddha and masters who have achieved Nirvana.


	2. AWAKENING OF THE RYŪJIN : I. The Harrowing Rebirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who says Yamamoto Genryūsai and Hyōsube Ichibē never knew each other? Who says Souls always begin as Humans? Who says such matters follow a straight line from a beginning to an end, with nothing before and nothing after?
> 
> Waking up without memories in the worst possible place is the worst possible thing to ever happen to a Soul.
> 
> But the kind of friend who could insult you as a piece of table cutlery yet not make you mad, is also the kind of friend who would risk everything to race to fish you out of trouble.
> 
> Even if said trouble was really all of your own reckless doing.
> 
> So enters our Sōtaichō and the leader of the Zero Division - in a state you will never expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CHAPTER WARNINGS:** Beginning of esoteric Buddhism-inspired concepts towards the end. Hopefully communicated in an interesting, engaging manner. The aim is to allow readers to enjoy the story without any brain sweat. If any parts are still unclear, write to me!
> 
>  **Original ideas abound in this chapter. DO NOT COPY OR USE WITHOUT PERMISSION.** Write to me if you like my creative devices. We can discuss usage or other derivative efforts.

* * *

**Ryūjin** ( _pron_.) / _riew-jeen_ / (Kanji: 流りゅ刃ジン), means ‘Flowing Blade’, to describe how the blade appears to flow when wielded at the pinnacle of martial prowess. An indirect title of honour conferred upon the blade master.

* * *

**FIRST** to come was its sense of _self_ , flashing into awareness.

Then oblivion exploded.

And everything was _chaos_.

It tried to see – but everything _everywhere_ was churning, roiling, whirling and spinning and tumbling, exploding with shocking forces, erupting in cacophonous blasts, with all manner of bursts, bangs and flashes thundering in between, venting against it so blindingly, scorchingly and forcefully, it immediately retreated to return to oblivion.

But oblivion was nowhere to be found.

Safe, dark oblivion was all gone. Without a trace.

No safety existed now.

So it tried to see again – and flailed, disoriented and dizzy, as erratically exploding lights and flashing shadows strafed its sight. It persisted, straining its vision, and was gratified when the madness cleared and sharpened and its dizziness passed.

And it found itself in a dazzling, kaleidoscopic maelstrom.

All manner of things and forces a wild, violent anarchy, all tossing and jumbling and exploding and materialising and disappearing in blinding, drowning, explosive riots all around, pummelling it from every which way and scorching it from every direction, sparking blindly when they glanced off–

Pain seared.

Tearing, jarring, burning it everywhere all at once, nigh debilitating it. Hurting, confused, terrified and disorientated, it frantically fought to escape the excruciating storm, all but deafened and smothered and crippled. Several times it nearly lost itself. All it could feel was scorching, devastating pain.

Mustering all its strength, forcing back its agony as the attacks pounded on mercilessly, it began searching wildly. Dashing between collisions and explosions, missing some but struck by others, desperately it sought for any escape or shelter and then, simply _anything_ , anything _at all_ , which could offer some aid. And thus was shocked frozen when it saw, with frightening vividness, the blazing fireball hurtling from the depths of the raging chaos.

Hurtling directly towards it.

In that split instant, it saw the flaming, molten missile incinerating, melting and vaporising everything too slow to escape – and heard a strident, soundless command _scream_ from deep inside itself.

Without thinking, it _obeyed_.

Twisting, it slanted aside.

The fireball roared past, trailing a great, fiery tail, spraying it with scorching, molten drops.

Missing it with mere breadths to spare.

No sooner had the fireball shot past, another one came flying.

Again without thinking, it obeyed its inner screams, and twisted and slanted aside.

And avoided the second fireball.

But a third one came. And a fourth one. Then another, and a few more, and several more, and then in rapid successions, more and more and faster and faster until a roaring, fire flood of blazing, molten fireballs was thundering towards it.

It exploded into a blur of movements.

Twisting, slanting, bending, then leaping and flipping, it dashed and darted between the deadly missiles, avoiding some, hit by others. It had no time to think, could only act, keeping itself on and on in flurries of evasive motions until exhaustion began to seep in.

Fear began rising.

If its strength ran out…

Then in its worst moment, it spied a dark shadow coming.

The looming object was ploughing through the flaming floods, distinctive because it was the only thing _not_ burning.

It squinted, trying to see the dark thing better.

Abruptly, the looming shadow shifted into stark, detailed clarity: a very large, irregularly elongated object, with rough, craggy, dull-grey surfaces, ponderously tumbling lengthwise end over end through the fiery tides of lethal, flaming missiles, completely _impervious_ to all the fiery pelting and explosions.

Then one long, craggy side rotated into view, revealing the shadowed mouth of a cavity – and a glimpse of a calm, still darkness within.

Immediately, it shot for the dark cavity.

It found it caught up easily. Surging forwards, it aimed straight for the mouth of the cavity: a ragged oval opening, small, but thankfully still large enough for it.

Without another instant’s hesitation it flowed forth and into the hole, descending into cool shadows, huddling down as deeply as it could reach.

And for several moments it remained still, enveloped in familiar darkness, willing itself to calm.

Then finally, when it felt more composed, it cautiously looked around.

There was little it could see beyond a mere span away from itself. The tiny distance was weakly lit only by a weak, golden glow. It needed more light–

The golden glow flared.

Dull-grey, craggy surfaces sprang into sharp, vivid relief, gleaming with yellow highlights in bright, golden light.

Startled, it looked down at itself, seeing itself for the first time.

It saw that its form was a dense, shapeless cloud of golden light, shining so brightly that its light was opaque. However, singed, dark patches littered it all over, many still smoking.

And throbbing.

Still, the throbbing paled in comparison to the way all its senses were excruciatingly burning.

Bearing up against its agony, it hurriedly inspected its refuge as best as it could.

The dull-grey, craggy surfaces all around were hemming in close, forming a roughly circular space. The space soared upwards in a nearly vertical slant, ending high above in that ragged, oval hole it had come through. Beyond the hole was the chaotic, blinding storms it had escaped from.

The hole seemed even smaller than the widest width of the space down below. 

Gathering its form, it contracted its mass into a taller, narrower cloud to fit its shelter, creating a small gap all around between itself and the walls of its tall, columnar sheltering hole. And in that small gap, it saw that some parts of the grey, craggy surfaces glittered with sharp, crystalline protrusions, while other parts gleamed with a smoothness coloured with irregular, darkly iridescent swirls. Save for these, its refuge was bare, devoid of anything else apart from itself.

In fact, there was no room _left_ for anything else. Its mass was already filling the space almost entirely and wherever the grey surface brushed against its form, the surface felt hard and stinging.

It dismissed the discomfort at once.

Wherever it was now, and _whatever_ this refuge was, it badly needed the shelter.

And this one would keep immediate dangers away for a while.

Finally giving in to its pain, it sought for a way to rest.

The endeavour was trickier than it expected, for the entire bottom of its refuge was a jagged bowl covered with sharp, threatening-looking protrusions.

Still, the uncomfortable spot was more appealing – and far safer – than going out again into the chaotic storms which so nearly ended it.

So gingerly, it began to lower itself.

Loosening its control enough to allow its mass to sprawl and puddle, it discovered to its great relief that it could pool itself without pain about the sharp protrusions on the bottom. So gratefully, it let itself go, sinking down into a golden, glowing pool onto the bottom of its narrow, vertical hole.

Then it woefully examined its collection of burns.

The ugly, dark patches had, at least, ceased smoking. But they continued throbbing painfully, and were very tender.

And on top of the scorching pain afflicting all its senses, the discordant choruses of agony all melded into one raw, excruciating tapestry.

But it would have to bear with them all from hereon. It had no other choice. Already, it had no idea who it was, no idea _what_ it was, where it came from, where it _was_ , how it ended up like this, and least of all, what it was to do. All these were much larger and more worrying questions than its discomfort.

It would just have to live with the pain now. 

As much as it could bear it, it began to shunt the pain away, to relegate the agony to the background of its awareness so that it could _function_. Or at the very least, _think_. Since it knew not what else it could do to–

A small flare of golden light leapt up from an uninjured part of its mass, and landed upon the nearest throbbing dark patch and disappeared into it.

Immediately, the burn – and the throbbing – of that spot began to fade.

It stared.

Then peered closer to see what was happening.

The small flare of golden light was swirling about _inside_ the injury, quickly lightening the patch even as the pain faded into nothing. In short order, the spot was glowing golden and unmarred, the burn gone without a trace, as was the pain.

The patch had completely healed.

It turned its attention to another wound, an idea rising.

Experimentally, it visualised another small flare of light leaping from an uninjured spot to the burn.

The same thing happened again. A glowing flare of golden light leapt up from the spot, dove into the burn and rapidly, began healing the damage.

Encouraged, it gathered itself and flowed upwards once more, returning to its floating position so that its entire mass was unobstructed by any contact with its hiding place. Then, with deliberate care, it began composing thought-images of healing all its burns at the same time.

And watched, amazed and delighted, when small flares of golden light began leaping up from all over its mass and diving into its burns, swirling into its wounds, the strange activity intensifying and becoming so frenetic that soon, its mass was blazing so brightly that all it could see was a dazzling, golden fog even as it felt the throbbing of its burns begin to fade.

It pushed on, rejoicing when the pain began receding even faster, persisting until it no longer felt any discomfort, before letting up on its efforts.

No sooner after it relaxed, the blinding, golden fog of light began dimming, the dull, craggy walls of its refuge began emerging, becoming clearer and clearer until finally, its light was once more glowing at its former luminosity.

It hastily examined itself.

Only to see that the glowing, golden cloud of its form was now perfectly _un_ marred. Not a single burn remained in sight.

Nor did a trace of soreness or throbbing remained.

The pain was entirely gone, cleanly erased.

What it now felt was a light, buoyant sensation of perfect balance, a well-being encompassing even all its senses–

It stilled, immediately noticing the change.

The searing, tearing, jarring, all the excruciating assaults upon its senses…

They were also all _gone_.

In their place thrummed a muffled mix of distant, muted vibrations and messy, rhythmic beats. They were discordant, but _did not_ hurt.

 _Nothing_ hurt, in fact.

Then it noticed, belatedly, that it was now perceiving with heightened detail, observing with sharper focus, and thinking with keener clarity.

The chaos outside must have passed.

Eagerly, it looked up and peered through the ragged, oval shaft opening – only to see the wildly crashing and exploding anarchy still raging on heedlessly.

 _Nothing_ had changed outside.

Yet, within this deep, dark hole, it felt nothing more than those distant, muted vibrations, heard no more than those vague, muffled drumming.

It looked back down at its refuge, quickly realising that the grey, craggy surfaces all around it were somehow _diminishing_ the effects of the violent turbulence beyond. And doing so with astounding effectiveness.

Beginning to wonder, it gazed up again at the chaos raging beyond the small, ragged, oval hole.

All its questions – _who_ it was, _what_ it was, _where_ it had come from, _where_ it was, _how_ it ended up here, _what_ it was to do… the questions were all brimming to overflowing. It _needed_ answers.

But to venture out there again in that lethal maelstrom… to once again experience the full, direct assault of agonising pain, the debilitating burning and tearing of its senses, to fight those deadly, incomprehensible forces while crippled… if it went out there again, it would once more be crippled by the same excruciating pain and disorientation and be rendered completely useless. Much less find any answer.

Yet, it could see no alternative.

For neither would it be finding any answer by hiding in this hole, however safe it felt.

Its only remaining course of action was clear.

As terrifying as the prospect was, it _must_ return out there.

But perhaps, this time it could go out there _equipped_.

It had already made one fortuitous discovery: the very material of its refuge was dulling and diminishing the blows of the chaos significantly. If there was a way to take the muting effect with it, it could overcome the attacks of the maelstrom.

Resolved, it began searching around its refuge once more, this time contracting its cloudy mass to a long and thin shape so that it could see more of the cramped space it was in and, hopefully, find a means to take along the muting effects of its refuge.

However, no matter how it bent and twisted itself, or how small it contracted its form to free up more space, its search yielded nothing. The deep, narrow hole was as bare as when it first entered, offering nothing which it could use or improvise upon.

It stared at one darkly iridescent surface, disappointed – and was suddenly wrenched forwards at a dizzying speed.

Then in the next instant, it was jolted to a halt.

Dazed, it looked wildly around.

For one terrifying instant, it thought it had fallen out of its refuge and into somewhere else – until it saw the same dull-grey, craggy surface of its hiding hole.

But superimposed over the image was something else.

A pattern.

An intricate web of fine, jagged, interlacing lines snaking away unevenly into every direction as far as it could see.

It blinked.

The web was _growing_. Spreading farther and farther out away from it.

Hastily, it blinked again.

And once more, found itself looking upon the uneven, dull-grey, darkly iridescent surfaces it had been staring at.

This time, however, it was also seeing the growing web of fine lines.

It turned quickly in place, scrutinising every surface of its hideout, up, down, all around, even the sharp, jagged bottom.

With increasing alarm, it began to see webs upon webs of fine, jagged, interlacing lines spreading through every part of its shelter. No part was spared.

Remembering its brief glimpse of the exterior of its refuge, it suddenly realised what it was witnessing: the very object it was hiding in, which was lending it this deep, narrow shelter, was _fissuring_ , the minute cracks spreading through every part.

In that same instant, it realised two things at once.

No longer suffering a relentless punishment of agonising sensory pain, its senses had sharpened to such an extent that it could now see _into_ the very substance of things.

And what it had seen were signs that what it had thought was a safe refuge was safe no longer.

The object it was hiding in was beginning to shatter. The webs of fine fissures were still a distance away from the craggy walls all around it but they were coming closer with the appearance of each new crack, inexorably spreading through the very substance which made this deep, narrow hole.

Alarm escalating into near panic, it stared up at the small, ragged hole above.

Ready or not, it would have to leave before this place broke apart and ended it as well.

Holding down its rising terror, it began to float back up towards the small opening.

* * * * * * * *

Mad, chaotic maelstroms of flashes and explosions raged. Wild, pounding forces battered, and stinging, slicing missiles strafed.

Its only consolation was that this time, the attacks assailed it only on one side. Its other side was clinging tightly – and desperately – onto the exterior of its refuge, its mass spread out as flatly as it could manage over rough, dull-grey surfaces, feeling the surfaces stinging it.

It had belatedly realised that the stinging discomfort was due to the deeply frozen state of the object it was riding upon. Despite that fact, the dull-grey, craggy surfaces were warming up – and warming up _rapidly_. When it had risked a look ahead, it had immediately understood why.

A blinding, white-hot conflagration lay right in its path, burgeoning in white, searing clouds, belching out blast after oppressive blast of decimating heat, the swelling, incinerating phenomenon consuming more and more of the chaos.

The terrible sight persisted, and then began slanting and sliding away, until it was began seeing the chaotic storms once again, the tempests raging on oblivious to the encroaching destruction, before they began fading, becoming whiter and more glaring until the scorching white light slanted back into view again, only to burn into its vision for what felt like long, excruciating moments before beginning to slide away.

It watched, transfixed, as the white-hot glare blazed into view and then dimmed out of sight a few more times before it realised that the intervals were caused by the rotation of the elongated object it was clinging onto. When it focussed, it could feel the inexorable, forward momentum.

And each time the searing, swelling, white light returned, the heat burned more hotly, the glare pierced more blindingly, and the craggy, frozen surfaces it was clinging upon heated and cracked more dangerously.

For the object it was holding onto, which it had thought was a safe refuge in, was tumbling closer and closer towards that blinding, burgeoning heat. All the chaos, all the crashing, exploding and jarring anarchies all around, bit by bit, they were all vaporising _completely_ the closer it fell towards that white-hot, expanding inferno, whose roar was becoming so deafening, all the thundering of the maelstroms were now melding and blending into one continuous, furious bellow.

The outcome was clear.

This entire region would soon be swallowed and become no more than swelling, searing clouds of white, killing heat.

And it had no suicidal wish to brave the chaotic storms it had awoken in.

But letting its fissuring refuge take it into that spreading conflagration ahead was also not an option, for that meant a definite destruction.

So it began to scour rapidly the mad tempests all around, seeking a clearer opening it could aim for, hoping that such an opening would soon appear for it was running out of time.

Then its refuge turned, to a halfway point with the white-hot, blinding conflagration on one side and the comparatively dimmer chaos on the other side, when the strangest sight was revealed.

Clusters and clusters of small, colourfully twinkling orbs of light, all of them whizzing past, their little, round bodies flaring distinctly for brief moments as brightly glittering, colourful dots before quickly fading and disappearing into the flashing, kaleidoscopic tempests of the chaos.

Struck, it observed the strange sight, trying to trace where the maniacally shooting orbs were coming from.

Then, abruptly, it realised that they were hurtling _from_ the conflagration. The overpoweringly blinding, white-hot heat had been drowning out the lights of the small, twinkling forms, obscuring them from its notice all this while.

But it was noticing them clearly now.

And becoming intensely intrigued.

For the colourfully twinkling little orbs, though very small, and their lights much dimmer than its own golden blaze, were speeding _unerringly_ through the storms _without mishap_.

As if they _knew_ where they were going.

Then a few clusters came rushing towards it, veering very close.

Before it could react – so fast were the little, round orbs – the small bodies were colliding against its back in a shower of soft patters, sliding over its mass, and then whizzing madly into the storms behind it.

And the flashes of contact sent frissons of shock through its entire being.

For each fleeting touch lanced its very being with screams of intense, echoing emotions.

/ _Abject terror_. _Blind panic._ /

/ _Frantic **desperation** to live._/

Stunned, it craned its vision around, staring frozen at the twinkling clusters fleeing into the storms, watching as they adroitly evaded every single explosion and wildly careening projectile before rapidly vanishing into the strobing, dazzling chaos.

Before it could recover from its shock, more small, round bodies were colliding and brushing over its back, then fleeing past its sight into the same direction.

With each touch, it felt each twinkling orb being _choose_ the violent anarchy as the lesser peril, each one _wanting_ to survive just as much as it did.

Feeling all their tiny sparks of _awarenesses_. 

The orbs were living beings. All of them were _aware_.

Just like it was aware.

It was not alone in this storming, mad chaos.

For it had found fellow beings who _knew_ how to avoid the deadly storms.

It knew it _had_ to follow.

Gathering itself tightly, drumming up all its strength, it pressed its underside hard against the fissuring surface of its refuge, looked up, and with one single, furious, golden burst catapulted forth, lancing out into the violent chaos, speeding into the thundering maelstrom in tight pursuit of the fleeing, twinkling clusters.

On and on it sped, streaking and swerving tightly in the wake of the orb beings, weaving and veering as fast as it could between everything clashing, crashing and exploding. The orb beings leading it through an incredible, evasive trail that left it safe. Elated, it surged forwards even faster, its mass blazing like a great, golden comet as it hurtled away from the white-hot, incinerating, encroaching heat, chasing tightly upon the tails of the small, shooting, bright, little orbs.

It was almost upon the last speeding, bright cluster when there was a split instant of a terrible, searing, blinding flash, followed by a sudden, loud, low hum.

And then everything turned upside down.

* * * * * * * *

Pain was all it knew. _Again_.

And much worse this time. For it was being flayed, _flayed alive_ , from all directions. By blinding, burning, white-hot forces tearing at it, broiling it, leaving it helpless to do anything else save cling desperately onto its sanity and hope against all hopes that it would survive.

Then, in the midst of the excruciating torrents, something soft – and _insistent_ – thudded against it.

In quick succession.

Each thud speared a bright agony through its battered mass.

Frantic to stop the new pain, it peeled its vision a slit and squinted.

Blinding, white-hot light strobed agonisingly into its sight.

But not before it saw the most inexplicable thing.

An indistinct, shifting patch of _light_. Hovering right in front of it and, unbelievably, _outlined_ against the scorching, searing, white glare. Like a patch of light within an endless sea of blinding light. Appearing to be roughly about a third of its own size. It thought the bright mass was round in shape when suddenly, the phenomenon shifted into an ovoid, then into a smudge, and then back into a sphere again, not staying in any fixed form. And with each change of shape, the mysterious patch of light pulsed differently: first white, then iridescent, and then dimmed before pulsing white again, the changing, bright pulses wreathing about a swirling, centre node shining with all colours yet no colour at all.

The patch of light continued to bump against its mass. Gently, and should not have hurt, but it was over-sensitised now and felt acutely every light bump as pure, stabbing pain.

However, through each stabbing contact of the gentle yet insistent bump, it felt an _intent_ not its own.

An intent that it should follow.

The instant it understood, the odd patch of light stopped bumping and began drifting away, then stopping again a short distance from it and swirled urgently.

 _Beckoning_.

Nearing the end of its strength and endurance, it followed.

* * * * * * * *

The going was _horrid_.

The inferno was _everywhere_. Glaring, _searing_. Shock waves tore and clawed at it, flaying it mercilessly from _every_ direction. Its only beacon of escape was the strange patch of light ahead, shimmering clear and distinct even within this blinding, white heat. The bright, beckoning, iridescent light was deliberately keeping just close enough for it to follow. So, mustering all its flagging strength, it forged on.

On they went like this, for what felt like an interminable eternity.

Then, at last, the devastating, blinding, white heat began to dim, began to cool and then, faintly at first, only to become more and more distinct rapidly, familiar collisions, explosions, and all manner of violence and chaos began coalescing from the blinding, glaring white ahead.

It never expected to feel so relieved to see that murderous maelstrom once again.

With a new surge of strength, it lunged forward, plunging across the remaining distance.

In the next instant, it was bursting back into wild tempests, shooting as fast as it could between explosions, collisions and dizzying, strobing lights, feeling shock waves licking its tail and searing, molten drops pelting its back.

And feeling utterly, utterly grateful to be back within the familiar, killing storms.

The strange patch of light was still ahead of it, insistently leading them away, heading towards what appeared to be a bright, vermillion sphere in the far distance.

It followed, laboriously, smelling a charred stench rising from itself and feeling the throbbing of what it now knew had to be new burns.

But the pulsating mass of light turned out to be as fast and agile as those small, twinkling orb beings. Swerving, diving and leaping through the storms with preternatural accuracy, seemingly anticipating each and every erratic projectile and wild tremor _before_ they struck or exploded. The mysterious being either had an extremely keen precognition for danger, or _knew_ the chaos very well.

Whichever the case, it would _not_ complain, for the being was leading them _safely_ through the maelstrom.

Striving with all its might, it followed its strange saviour as closely as it could, keeping itself in the wake of the shifting light mass where it was safer. And despite being smaller in size, the being seemed approving that it was following thus, even slowing deliberately for its benefit.

Presently, they began approaching a wildly raging phalanx of flaming, bombarding, molten fireballs.

Another fireball flood.

But its guide continued onwards, heading _directly_ for the fiery barrage.

It balked. And halted.

The being ahead stopped instantly, noticing its refusal to move. The swirling mass of iridescent light began to glimmer encouragingly.

It still did not move.

Its mysterious rescuer drew closer, pausing right in front of it. And then glittered insistently.

It remained still.

Then the strange being began bumping against it, shifting shape and pulsating _angrily_.

But it was resolute. It was already throbbing with new pain and smelling its own charred stench. It did not have to look at itself to know that it was piteously smoking all over once again.

It would _not_ go forward.

However, the bumping motions became more strident, more painful.

So it made a decision.

They would have to part ways here. As grateful as it would always be to this strange being for saving its life, the last thing it wanted to do was head into a new danger immediately after escaping the last one. It would have to take its chances with those small, orb-like beings instead.

So it began to turn, intent on leaving.

However, before it could move further, the shifting mass of light _rippled_ and then, without warning, flashed _towards_ it.

It dodged.

But it was too late.

The being was incredibly fast, plunging and disappearing _into_ its mass.

An electrifying bolt jolted through its entire awareness, firing through all its thoughts.

Then, suddenly, a rush of deep, booming and _infuriated_ thoughts came at it from behind.

In a flash, it _understood_ them as a tirade of arcane _expletives._

**[…you obstinate tool! How can you still be so stiff-necked when you now have no neck?! Are you _hearing_ me _now_? Did you think I risked everything to come get you just to let you get _killed_ again?! Have you left all your wits in that hole?]**

It whipped about.

And nearly collided into the changeable mass of light.

Which was rippling furiously in front of it.

 _Too_ close in front of it. The anger was a palpable force.

It backed away hurriedly.

**[Ai, _stop_! You witless naihoku[i]!] **

It froze.

Feeling insulted. Yet not understanding why.

The being let out a deep, booming bark of triumph. **[ _Hah!_ Took _that_ to make you _finally_ hear _and_ understand me, ne?! ‘Tis your own fault for choosing this place to awaken! You should be thankful I came after you and just in time too! Now let us get out of here before this whole region blows! Follow me now!** **]**

That was out of the question. One look at the floods of the fireballs was enough.

The strange being made an irritated noise. **[Ai! Do not be a fool! I got you out of that inferno at great costs, _why_ would I let anything happen to you _now_? We need to get you fixed up, but not here! Come _on_!]**

The being had a point.

But it still hesitated, staring uncertainly at its odd rescuer.

Suddenly, its vision _shifted_ , and then it was looking _inside_ the being, seeing a steadily swirling, shining node – and within the node, a waving, swaying stream of iridescent light entwined with a waving, swaying stream of darkness. The two contrasting streams of brightness and darkness were melding together, blending into a different, ever-changing light which was pulsing white, then iridescent, and then dimming before pulsing white again, in that cadence it had first seen.

It had no idea what it was looking at.

But somehow, the strange sight felt… _right_.

 **[Wait! Are you _seeing_ my Soul?]** Its rescuer suddenly began glimmering excitedly. **[Then are you also seeing my Spirits? Seeing how my Hard Spirit and Soft Spirit are forming my Soul?]**

Soul?

It blinked, and then was seeing normally again. It stared at the being uncomprehendingly.

Spirits?

 **[Ai! Seems you have lost even _that_ memory!]** lamented the being.

Memory?

 **[But at least you have retained the ability to see them, even if you have forgotten them!]** fretted its rescuer. **[I suppose we ought to be glad for that, though we _must_ still discover what you can and cannot remember– Ai! But this is neither the time nor place for this! We _must_ leave now! _Hurry!_ ]**

The strange, shifting light mass made to leave.

But a jumble of questions had begun whirling, clamouring for attention. And from the morass, one particular query rose so stridently, it instinctively seized upon it and, concentrating very hard, framed the inquiry in its thoughts as clearly as it could

**[ _Who_ … are… _you_?]**

Its guide stopped, glittered, and then _audibly_ , _rattled_ with annoyance.

**[ _Seriously?_ _Now?_ _Here?_ Is that _even_ important after I have gotten you _out_ of that starburst?]**

It was desperate.

But it was even more desperate for answers.

And clearly, its answers now lay with this strange being who not only seemed to know _who_ and _what_ it was, but knew everything quite well too.

So, **[ _Yes_ ,]** it emphatically replied. **[Your… name?]**

 **[ _My name?!_ ]** The being boomed with near apoplexy. **[You truly cannot remember a thing if you are even asking _that_! We _do not_ use names! Names _constrict_ our perceptions! Blind our Awarenesses! Falsely bind our Souls into fixated delusions of self! _Especially_ for beings like us, names do more harm than good! So we neither have nor want _any_ name!]**

**[But… how can I… identify you then?]**

**[Argh! _Fine!_ If you _must_ call me something, then do what we all do, call me by my job description. That is Manakoshi[ii] to you. And before you ask what that means, it means The One Who Calls The True Name. _That_ is what I do. _Satisfied?_ ]**

It was not.

**[You do not want names… yet your job… is to call the true name?]**

**[ _Only_ for those who need names!]**

It was even more confused. **[There are those who need names… and those who do not?]**

**[Aye, aye! Beings like us, names are more _hindrance_ than help so we do not have them. But most others need names to even begin to _understand_ their existences, so my job is to name everything for them. _Clear_?]**

It was not.

**[So those like us, we do not need names because we have this Soul thing?]**

**[Soul _thing_?] **The being glittered with visible upset. **[Have more respect for your Soul! You are among the fortunate few with fully intact and awakened Souls! _Most_ only possess one Spirit and the majority of those wretches live in _oblivion_!]**

**[But I am not understanding–]**

**[I _told_ you, this is _no_ place to do any explaining! If you keep us here asking questions, not just you, but _both of us_ will be ended! We _must_ leave, now!]**

Suddenly, it felt the nearness of shock waves and heat.

The catastrophe they had just escaped from was drawing _closer_.

So it let its confusion rest.

For the moment.

**[All right, we leave.]**

**[Argh! _Finally!_ Come on now, _follow tight_!]**

Its infuriated, strange rescuer immediately spun and once more, led their mad dash for the lethal, fiery floods of molten missiles.

It hesitated for an instant, then mustered its courage and strength, and chased after the being.

* * * * * * * *

Manakoshi, for all that it had insisted that they were in no place to talk, was nevertheless flying _and talking_ at the same time – or more precisely, _scolding_. _Without_ pause and _totally_ _unfazed_ by the wild explosions and close collisions they were dashing through.

It laboured to split its concentration between keeping up and paying attention. The strident litany was peppered with meanings it did not understand and found faintly humiliating, but nevertheless it took no offence, for along with the vague insults came a veritable fount of information it so desperately needed.

They arced around a huge gust of flaming fireballs.

 **[Hah! Fireball meteoroids! Have not seen these for awhile!** **For _your_ information, you were dodging them the moment you awakened! Fireballs can be very small but these ones here are _enormous_! Another reason why I _have_ to come get you, I _told_ you this place was a bad idea! You _must_ avoid the bigger ones, they can end you! But did you listen? Of course not! Shortest route, you said, puts me closest to my destination, you said, now do you see _what_ happens when you try to take a shortcut like this? What good can you do if you end _before_ you even _start_?]**

It could not reply at all. Manakoshi was extremely _fast_ and _nimble_. Every last spark of its power was reduced to keeping up and listening.

**[And speaking of start, do not _even_ get me started on that _stupid rock_ you hid in! I _told_ you and I _told_ you again and again ‘tis a _dreadful_ idea to pick a ride veering so close to a starburst but _nooo_ , you insisted it was an _acceptable risk_ , you said, a _serviceable_ resting stop, you said. _Bah_! Where is that asteroid and its ridiculously cramped hole now? _Kaboom!_ All vaporised in that starburst before your powers could even fully open! _Exactly_ like I told you they would!]**

Thankfully, they soon passed the tides of fiery meteoroids. The flaming barrage began thinning and they were swerving and weaving in and out through increasingly sparser volleys of smaller, pelting, hot projectiles.

It followed with a new surge of strength, straining harder.

**[If you had _listened_ to me and gone with _my_ plan instead, you would be leisurely getting reacquainted with things, but nooo! So now I have to risk _everything_ to come get you out of trouble, nearly be _extinguished_ searching for you in this mess, was almost _frozen_ into stone and then nigh _vaporised_ into gas just waiting for you to realise that you have the power to come out of that ludicrous hole in that absurdly cold rock! And _then_ I called and shouted and yelled until I went hoarse only to find out that amongst everything else you did to yourself, you have _also_ landed yourself in a state which _completely_ sealed your Awareness against me! So I had to _un_ seal your Awareness with whatever power I have left, but now that I have your attention at last, I end up with _too little_ time left and _too much_ to do!]**

At last, they emerged through the small debris storm and for a moment, there was a lull in their surroundings.

And thankfully, a lull in its rescuer’s diatribe.

It looked.

And stared.

* * * * * * * *

All around, the chaotic violence and turbulence it had first awoken in had fallen into a strange, visible _order_. And as it stared about, the strange sense of order began to feel _colossal_ , as if the organisation extended far beyond what it could see. And blazing right in the heart of this enigmatic region was…

A titanic, brilliantly burning, vermillion fireball.

It had no other way to describe what it was seeing.

The bright, fiery sphere was emanating floods upon floods of liquid light and heat from boiling surfaces flaring with long, dancing, flaming tongues, each flaring tongue fanning waves and waves of sheer, intense, radiating _power_ into the flooding, liquid light and heat.

And as each radiating wave stroked over its mass, it felt its own light _respond_.

The sensation was indescribable. As though the radiating power was…

_Alive._

A shifting sensation stirred, rising from deep within itself – from something it had not known was there before. The odd feeling was the strangest thing, as if the _core_ of its very being was finally rousing from a deep slumber it had not even been aware of.

So it looked down at it itself.

Its form was blazing incandescently, its golden light all but blinding where it was facing the titanic, fiery sphere. Indeed, its light was now as blinding as the white-hot conflagration it had so narrowly escaped from. And felt _warm_ , not scorching, the kind of warmth which it knew would only become hotter the closer it went towards the bright, vermillion fireball. Yet, it felt no fear of the heat, felt none of the ominous doom it had previously felt from the white-hot fire it had been trapped in. Instead, all it felt was a gentle warmth, a sense of… welcome. A feeling of…

 _Life_.

An indescribable sensation of life. So intensely pure, that as it watched, its mass began flaring all over with little leaps of golden sparks, the sparks diving into its wounds.

It stared, astounded, as its burns began to fade.

Its light was healing itself _without_ its conscious will.

**[ _Finally_ , at least _something_ is now going right! The star is having an effect!] **

It looked up to see the swirling light of Manakoshi pulse in vindication.

**[What is a star?]**

The pulsing halted. **[ _You_ , of all beings, are asking _what_ is a star? _Ai!_ You truly _have_ forgotten everything _important_!]** The mass of light began rippling in agitation. **[If you had followed _my_ plan, you would have awoken knowing what a star is! But you were obstinate, so now I have to tell you what you ought to have known! _Fine!_ Look _there_!]**

Somehow, the shifting mass of light managed to glitter in the direction of the titanic, vermillion fireball. 

**[ _That_ , is a star. Countless of them exist across _all_ tangible realities. Its light is called _starlight_ , ‘tis the power you are now feeling, the power causing you to heal.]**

It looked at the star, squinting against the brilliance, then looked down at itself again.

Only mere moments had passed, but all its new burns were halfway _faded_.

And it no longer felt even the smallest bit of discomfort.

The speed of healing was _far_ beyond that with which it had healed itself.

It narrowed its vision speculatively at the blinding sphere.

**[Its light, this starlight… it feels _alive_. How is that–]**

**[It _feels_ alive to you, ne?]** cut in Manakoshi, shimmering with odd excitement.

 **[Aye, it does,]** it replied, puzzled. **[Are stars alive–]**

But it was interrupted again.

**[Stranger and stranger! You can see my Soul and Spirits, yet you know not what they are. You can sense the true nature of starlight, your light is responding to it like it always does, yet you know not what is a star! I am starting to wonder just _how_ you crossed the Sankandō[iii]!]**

**[What is the Sankandō?]** it asked, and before it could be cut off again, hastily pressed, **[Clearly something is special about starlight, because I am _feeling_ it. But why did you imply it has some kind of significant connection to _me_? And can you _please_ explain _now_ what is a Soul and what are Spirits?]**

 **[Ai! First things first!]** chided its guide.

It decided not to point out it had been interrupted _twice_.

**[Starlight feels alive to us because _we_ ourselves are alive! Stars may be the most powerful things in all Ages in all realms but they are _not_ living things, and starlight is _not_ living power. If you were an inanimate object, say, like that rock you were holed up in, you would be feeling this starlight _very_ differently now.]**

It could not quite grasp the logic. **[But if starlight is a _non_ -living power, then _how_ is it that it is not only _healing_ me, but healing me so _quickly_?]**

 **[Ai! Did I _not_ just explain?] **The mass of light swirled with impatience. **[I _did not_ say it is healing you, I said its power is _causing_ you to heal! ‘Tis the _touch_ of the star’s power on you stimulating your light to heal you, not that the starlight itself is doing any healing, see the difference?]**

It realised that it would have to pay much closer attention from hereon.

For the being was clearly an extremely precise sort.

 **[Let me rephrase that,]** it amended itself. **[ _How_ is starlight causing my light to heal me? And heal me so quickly too?]**

Manakoshi rippled fretfully. **[I can tell you, I _want_ to tell you, this is why I came after you, but _will_ you _understand_? You cannot even remember what is a star, all your basic knowledge must be gone! Without the basics, how will you make sense of anything I say?]**

 **[Then explain to me the basics?]** it suggested. **[Help me regain them.]**

 **[There is _a lot_ for me to explain and you to know if we start from the basics,]** Manakoshi glittered warningly. **[And things will become harder and harder to grasp the more we proceed. I am no teacher either, I can only try to explain as plainly as possible. Are you prepared? _Can_ you _keep up_?]**

 **[I will _have_ to.]** It was resolute. **[I _cannot_ and _will not_ carry on like this, in this dangerous ignorance.]**

Finally, the being simmered down somewhat. **[In that case, the very first thing you must learn, or _re_ learn, in your case, is the about the forces of,]** there was a minute pause, and then with purposeful emphasis, **[ _Teizundōshin_[iv].]** And then a silent anticipation followed.

It stared, waiting likewise.

After several moments passed, the being began glittering agitatedly again.

**[Ai! Not stirring a thing? Not even slightly?]**

**[Should it be?]** it asked, puzzled.

There was a vexed growl. **[I was hoping the _sound_ of the term would be familiar to you, but it clearly does not stir the slightest recollection! Ai! I truly cannot understand why your memories are so… so _patchy_!]**

Comprehension dawned.

 **[I see what you are attempting. Perhaps you can simply go on? If anything sounds familiar to me, I will let you know,]** it offered.

 **[Seems that is how we must proceed with you now,]** agreed its guide with visible woe. But then, with a ripple, shook off the momentary gloom. **[There is nothing for it, then, but to go on. So, the basics. The first thing you need to understand are the elemental forces of Teizundōshin. Because they are the foundational _powers_ without which _nothing_ can ever exist. You have been sensing them since you awakened. All the chaos you feel storming all about? They are the results of the forces of Teizundōshin perpetually at work _everywhere_. These forces _never_ cease, never pause even for the slightest moment, they constantly stir all materials in this cosmos to form _all_ things tangible. Follow so far?] **

**[Aye,]** it responded. **[So far so good.]**

Manakoshi glimmered, visibly assured. **[To truly realise and appreciate how vital they are to everything, you must first learn and understand the characteristics and purpose of each elemental force. Pay attention now.]**

It trained all its focus upon the being.

**[Tei is the force of resistance, it births solidity and stillness. But we cannot perceive the forces of Tei directly. We can only feel them as resistance against us. And observe their effects and influences in all tangible things. For instance, take that asteroid you hid in. It was hard and solid, ne? Because it was formed to be hard and solid by the forces of Tei, which we regard as hard, yet passive forces. Hard, because they obstruct and resist. But passive, because they do not initiate anything.]**

The new knowledge began to arouse a kind of excitement.

 **[What about the forces of Zun, Dō and Shin?]** it asked eagerly.

**[Zun is the elemental force of adaptability. ‘Tis the force behind all change and conformation. Zun forces are more elusive than the forces of Tei. Whereas we can at least feel the forces of Tei as a resistance, we can feel _nothing_ of the forces of Zun. The only means for us to know whether Zun forces are at work is by seeking for their effects. You did notice how your frozen asteroid heated up the more it tumbled into that terrible, white inferno, ne? _That_ was the Zun forces at work, you felt how they were _changing_ that rock from frozen to hot, adapting the asteroid to the increasingly hotter conditions.]**

**[I _knew_ the change was occurring!]** it realised, elated as it finally began to understand. **[But** **I did not know the whys of it before. _Now_ I do!]**

 **[Aye, ‘tis always better to know what we are observing, ne?]** Manakoshi approved. **[Where the forces of Tei are hard and passive, the forces of Zun are _always_ soft and passive. For they are _never_ direct, they never _initiate_ anything. But _never_ , not even for one instant, _ever_ think them weak. As soft and passive as the forces of change and adaptation always are, they can wreck a transformation so complete, that the result becomes _utterly_ _un_ recognisable. _Think_ back _._ That inferno in which you were trapped, which nearly ended you, it changed the _entire region_. What was once the usual chaos of the cosmos has now become a vast, terrible zone of pure devastation.]**

There was no way it would ever forget _that_.

And it could not utter a single response for the awe which the memory invoked.

**[Now, the forces of Zun find their complete opposites in the forces of Dō, the elemental forces of _movement_. All forces of Dō are hard, active forces. They birth _all_ non-elemental forces in existence, and from these, all activities arise. The forces of Dō are the _only_ elemental forces we can sense directly. We see them as lights, even your light and my light. We hear them as sounds and noise. Feel them as heat or cold or any manner of other sensations, feel them as every push or pull against our forms. When we fly, when we move, ‘tis one or more of the forces of Dō which are enabling us to perform these actions. When that asteroid took you into that white-hot fire, ‘twas also the forces of Dō responsible for that.]**

**[So the forces of Dō are almost everywhere,]** it concluded.

 **[Almost? Nay, the forces of Dō _are_ everywhere,]** corrected Manakoshi. **[They _must_ be. For they _carry_ upon them _all_ other forces in existence. ‘Tis the forces of Dō which brings all other elemental forces into every aspect of every realm. Without the forces of Dō, _nothing else_ can even _hope_ to exist. For despite their importance to all other elemental forces, the forces of Dō neither reign supreme nor are they the most fundamental. Because at the end of every Epoch of four Aeons, the forces of Dō will be the only force remaining _active_ , while all the other elemental forces will lapse into passivity. When that happens, Dō forces are only capable of creating pure, absolute _chaos_ in which _nothing else_ is possible Dō forces thus depend on all other forces for their very _purpose_. This _critical_ dependence of _power_ is one which you _must_ always remember.]**

 **[I will,]** it promised. **[And the forces of Shin?]**

 **[Shin, now that is my favourite!]** Manakoshi shimmered brightly. **[Shin forces are the forces of expansion. They are the complete opposite of the forces of Tei. From the forces of Shin, arise all growths, all developments. Soft yet active forces they are. Like the forces of Zun, the forces of Shin cannot be sensed directly, only their effects can be perceived. But unlike the effects of Zun forces, it takes an advanced Awareness to able to identify the forces of Shin at work. You did not know it then, but when you discovered how you could heal yourself with your light, you _grew_ in your power and learning. That was the force of Shin at work inside you. But the healing process was an _active_ effect, for they erased your wounds. That was one observable effect of the active aspect of the forces of Shin.]**

 **[So all elemental forces, they are present and at work even _inside_ living beings?]** it asked.

 **[ _Inside_ living beings? Not _merely_ inside, all living beings are _nothing_ without them!]** Manakoshi shimmered grandly. **[The very _life_ of beings, ‘tis an elemental force of its own kind. For all beings of corporeal forms, _even_ shapeless clouds of living lights like yours, and the one I now wear, ‘tis the four elemental forces of Teizundōshin which make up each and every one of our bodies. Remember, these forces constantly stir all materials in this cosmos to form everything _tangible_. And by everything, I do mean _everything_. Every object, every power, every phenomenon and event, every single thing we can see, feel, touch, smell, hear and sense across all tangible realms across all Ages, they are all made tangible by the four forces of Teizundōshin. And when things are tangible they become perceivable to us. This is why we call this realm the Yūkeikai[v]. ‘Yūkei’ meaning being tangible and ‘kai’… well, ‘kai’ once meant a state of perception, but now it has become oversimplified to mean realm…]**

 **[And beings?]** it asked avidly. **[Do living beings have a nice name like that too? Always calling us living beings or beings sounds very rude–]**

 **[Beings are more complicated,]** Manakoshi cut in, clearly unheeding of manners, and even followed with a sardonic snort. **[But no surprise there, ne? For starters, all beings who _must_ exist in a tangible realm, like this Yūkeikai, _must_ assume a corporeal form simply just to _live_. Otherwise its very life would not withstand the sheer power of the elemental forces and would be _commingled_ and _lost_ into oblivion among _chaos_. We call these beings Keitaisei[vi], ‘keitai’ meaning corporeal form, ‘sei’ meaning life, and so together, Keitaisei means living beings of corporeal forms.]**

Reflexively, it looked down at itself, seeing its own glowing cloud of opaque, golden light. And then it looked at its guide again, seeing the being’s mass of swirling, iridescent light.

 **[But our forms do not appear corporeal,]** it pointed out doubtfully. **[Are we still Keitaisei?]**

 **[Your light is visible,]** Manakoshi reminded. **[Did I not just tell you the forces of Dō can be perceived as light? So aye, even bodies of shapeless clouds of living light are corporeal. This is why you are a Keitaisei.]**

It noticed the omission immediately. **[But _you_ are not?]**

Manakoshi rippled with uncertainty. **[Answering that will probably be rushing you too fast, but since you asked…]** Then the being sighed. **[Well, since you asked, know that I am** **a** **Mutaisei[vii], ‘mu’ meaning without, and ‘tai’ meaning tangible form. This means I am a being without corporeal form. I do not need to inhabit any tangible body simply to live. Does not mean I cannot adopt one if I wish to. Like now. And before you ask, aye, you were like me, a Mutaisei too. Though you ended all that the moment put yourself into this mess!]**

It ignored the chastisement, for the revelations were much too intriguing. If Keitaisei with their tangible forms lived in this tangible realm called the Yūkeikai…

It decided to hazard a guess. **[So Mutaisei without tangible forms live in, what, an intangible realm? Let me guess, it is called the Mukeikai[viii]? Meaning Intangible Realm?]**

 **[ _Formless_ Realm, to be more exact, but you made a very good guess regardless!]** Manakoshi praised. **[Aye, you and I used to exist in the Mukeikai. It is a realm of _no_ tangibility, hence it is _every_ where and _no_ where all at once.]**

 **[But this means…]** It hesitated briefly, then plunged ahead with another guess. **[This means the forces of Teizundōshin do not exist in the Mukeikai?]**

**[Nay, the exact _opposite_ is true. The Mukeikai is nothing _but_ pure, elemental forces. ‘Tis not a physical realm at all. When I said that ‘kai’ originally meant a state of perception, that is the Mukeikai. Think of it as a realm which exists solely because the _collective Awarenesses_ of all Mutaisei are perceiving it to exist. Hence it has no materiality, and without materiality, no elemental force can bring anything into tangibility. Hence there is no form.] **

It stared, lost. **[I fear all I can understand of that is it seems the Mukeikai is a** **higher realm? It _must_ be. If something does not even need to be tangible in order to exist, then logically, it must be extremely powerful.]**

 **[We do not think in terms of power,]** Manakoshi corrected, but agreed nevertheless, **[But aye, the Mukeikai is considered a higher realm, simply because it takes a much broader and deeper Awareness before a being is able to perceive it.]**

**[Beings like the Mutaisei, who no longer need to inhabit corporeal forms in order to live?]**

**[Correct!] Manakoshi glimmered, pleased. [One of the natural results of transcending to a larger Awareness is that we no longer need any corporeal forms. As Mutaisei, we exist at a _purer_ state untouched by any materiality. And thus _every_ aspect of us is unconstrained by the limits of substance.]**

**[That sounds handy,]** it remarked appreciatively.

**[Oh, it certainly is! ‘Tis the most convenient way to exist, in my view. We can _go_ anywhere, _be_ anything, _do_ practically anything. You will see when you are finally done with all these heavy Keitaisei business and can return to the Mukeikai.]**

**[When will that be?]** it wondered, curious. **[And what is my business here?]**

 **[You ask difficult questions, Tomo[ix].]** Manakoshi dimmed. **[I cannot answer the first, for time moves very differently in the Yūkeikai. _Very_ much differently. The only certainty I can tell you is that as long as you** **keep up that logical deductive gift of yours, you may just progress much more smoothly and quickly than any of us expect. As for your second question,]** the being sighed. **[Like I said, I can tell you, and I _sorely_ wish to. But will you understand anything at this moment? When I have to even explain what you are to you?]**

It could not argue with that.

 **[All I hope for now is that I can cram in more than just the basics,]** Manakoshi went on. **[The effects of the Sankandō are _very_ permanent, but if you can keep on using your reasoning abilities like this–]**

It at once latched onto the term. **[Wait,** **can you tell me _now_ what _is_ the Sankandō? I already know some basics now.]**

 **[ _Just_ enough,] **Manakoshi pointed out. Then relented and explained. **[Simply put, the Sankandō is the Three Routes of Return. The Route of Souls, the Route of Hard Spirits, and the Route of Soft Spirits.** **All Keitaisei, be it as Souls or Spirits, _must_ pass through the Sankandō to be reborn back into this Yūkeikai. Passing through one of the three Routes erases all memories of its past lives so that it will be reborn with a new, blank Awareness, devoid of memories, ready to live its new life in a way that will exhaust the ill consequences riding upon it. And hopefully, avoid inflicting new causes upon itself that would prolong its miseries.] **

Once again, it found it could grasp only one thing in that explanation. **[So is this why I cannot remember anything?]**

Manakoshi swirled thoughtfully. **[I am now not so certain that you do not remember anything at all… Newly reborn Keitaisei are always as helpless as… well, newborns. But _you_ , it seems _only_ the memories of your _Awareness_ were erased. For some reason, your senses are still instinctively recognising what they used to be able to… Ai! This is _most_ puzzling! Nay, do not ask me for any explanation yet, I do not even have the _slightest_ inkling of _how_ to _begin guessing_ what might have happened to you when you passed through the Sankandō…]**

Accepting the explanation for now, it turned and stared at the brilliant, fiery, vermillion star, and then scanned beyond, tracing its vision across the strangely distant-looking vistas of chaos and anarchy storming on heedlessly.

 **[Tell me something,]** it began. **[I _have_ been sensing the forces of Teizundōshin like you said. I have been feeling them since I awakened.** **They were excruciating. But they no longer bother me. Since I healed myself, they do not hurt anymore. Now I sense them as… as a kind of dull, thrumming noise which are of no consequence and do not hinder me at all. Like a harmless background sound. What caused this change? The forces of Zun?]**

**[I will do something better for you. Why not _you_ try telling _me_ what you think caused this change? Test what you have just learnt.]**

It thought for a while.

Then hazarded, **[The forces of Zun must be at work in me to cause the change, but… also the forces of Shun? I do feel like my power and knowledge have grown…]**

 **[But you are exactly right!]** Manakoshi shimmered. **[The first time when you healed yourself, it took all your focus and will, ne? Now, you do not even have to _think_ about it. This is the result of the elemental forces of Zun and Shun adapting and growing your power. Each elemental force has its own family of _related_ forces. There are whole disciplines devoted to each one of them but the most important thing you need to know is that the four forces of Teizundōshin, together with their families of related forces, they combine into _infinite_ permutations. The unending chaos out there are not merely signs of only the four force at work, but also all those myriads of _permutations_ reacting with other forces and the materials in the cosmos. When you healed yourself the first time, your light was wielding a mix of the forces of Zun and Shun. And right now, ‘tis a different mix of the Zun and Shun powers which are enabling you to heal. Though this time I see that they are of a more complex mix than before...]**

It looked down at itself once more.

All its burns were gone.

What was more, there was a strange flow of a _new_ power surging through its very being.

A power it had never felt before.

Yet, inexplicably, it felt as if this power had always been its own.

 **[What _is_ this I am feeling?]** it marvelled wonderingly. **[‘Tis unfamiliar, yet it feels as if it has always been a part of me!]**

Manakoshi rippled, confounded. **[This is becoming more and more vexing! _How_ is it that you are _feeling_ the familiarity of starlight but your _Awareness_ still _cannot_ remember it? Your affinity to starlight is the greatest among all Souls, can it be that your _senses_ retained their memories for the light of stars? There must be something I am not yet seeing, or the Nyorai-bu knew a lot more than they were letting on when they asked you to do this. Knowing how cryptic they are, I am betting ‘tis the latter…]** The monologue began trailing off into indistinct mutterings.

But it had already caught the slipped information.

 **[ _Who_ are the Nyorai-bu?]** And then, slightly suspicious, it asked, **[Did they give me a _command_ dressed as a request? The way you are putting it, it sounds like the Nyorai-bu control everything and I had little choice in the matter.]**

 **[Control?]** Manakoshi abruptly shook, upset. **[ _That_ is _not_ how things work! You _had_ a choice. You had _total_ freedom to choose! And you did not _have_ to choose to do this at all!]**

So it had guessed very wrong this time.

**[To the Nyorai-bu _none_ of these is _ever_ about control _at all_! The moment you are free of this Yūkeikai, _nothing_ and _no one_ can command or coerce you into doing _anything_. _Every_ single one of your deeds is _still_ ultimately done purely out of _your_ own volition, _you_ are _still_ the _only_ one inflicting _all_ causes and consequences upon yourself!]**

**[Slow down!]** it hastened to stop. **[What are you speaking of? _What_ causes and consequences? You are rushing too fast!]**

Manakoshi dimmed its light, slightly mollified. **[Perhaps I am. But I hope you will _forever remember_ after this how much _pain_ I took to come after you. There is simply _too_ _much_ you need to know, and I am uncertain if I can impart everything you need to know in the time I have left here. Come along now, you have completely healed, so I think we can risk going nearer to the star. Perhaps a closer touch of starlight will stir in you more than just vague familiarity for its power.]**

With that, its mercurial guide and rescuer began hastening towards the titanic, brilliant, vermillion fireball.

Once again, it followed.

This time, without hesitation at all, for it was now entirely consumed by its hunger to know.

* * *

[i] Naihoku / _nigh-ho-kuh_ / (HN: ナイホク) is an archaic, now obsolete term for table cutlery.

[ii] Manakoshi / _mah-nah-koh-shee_ / (KN: 真名呼士シ) means ‘The One Who Calls The True Name’. 

[iii] Sankandō / _saahn-khan-doh_ / (KN: 三さん還カン道) means ‘Three Routes Of Return’.

[iv] Teizundōshin / _tay-zuhn-dou-sheen_ / (KN: 抵順ずん動ドウ伸シン) is a phrase consisting of four separate words of:

  * Tei / _tay_ / (KN: 抵), meaning the force of resistance, which gives rise to solidity, hardness, tangibility, resistance to movement and change, stubbornness, collectiveness, stability, gravity and sureness, represented by earth;
  * Zun / _zuhn_ / (KN: 順ずん), meaning the force of adaptability, which gives rise to fluidity, formlessness, conformation, adaptation, flexibility, suppleness, magnetism, defensiveness, represented by water;
  * Dō / _dou_ / (KN: 動ドウ), meaning the force of movement, which gives rise to power and all phenomena which releases power such as metabolism, movement and physical activeness, and active non-physical desire, intention and motivation, represented by fire; and
  * Shin / _sheen_ / (KN: 伸シン), meaning the force of expansion, which gives rise to growth, freedom, development, learning, open mind, wisdom, carefreeness, elusiveness, benevolence and compassion, represented by wind.



[v] Yūkeikai / _yu_ _-kay-kai_ / (KN: 有ゆう形けい界) means ‘Tangible Realm’, in which everything is tangible, has form and substance. 

[vi] Keitaisei / _kay-tie-say_ / (KN: 形けい体タイ生セイ) means ‘Living Beings Of Corporeal Form’.

[vii] Mutaisei / _muh-tie-say_ / (KN: 無体タイ生セイ) means ‘Living Being Of No Corporeal Form’.

[viii] Mukeikai / _muh-kay_ _-kai_ / (KN: 無形けい界) means ‘Formless Realm’, in which everything has neither form nor substance nor tangibility.

[ix] Tomo / _toh-moh_ / (KN: 友) means ‘Friend’.

**Author's Note:**

> **Thank you for reading, subscribing, bookmarking and leaving kudos!**
> 
> **FEEDBACK SOUGHT:** While I wrote this as the genesis story to begin this series, I am not entirely sure if this would be best as a launch arc, or better as an intermission arc inserted after ' _[Defeat Evil With Evil](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17640359/chapters/41596487)_ ' but before Ukitake's visit to the Human World to give more context to the key relationships. Ideas and suggestions and thoughts are welcomed!
> 
> **_KEEP REACTING!_ **
> 
> What you have just read are my drafts. Nonetheless, I am crazy finicky about the quality of my drafts! When I’m done, each story in this series will be a full-length novel.
> 
> Writing is extremely hard work. I personally find fantasy fiction writing the hardest of all - creatives like us, we not only have to develop plots and characters, we have to build a whole world on top of it!
> 
> So, if you like this story - heck, if you like my work! - smash the Kudos button, drop a comment, bookmark or subscribe! All authors love reader responses! [This writer says it best here](https://edohikaro.tumblr.com/post/184073572879/heathenvampires-heathenvampires-one-of-the)!
> 
> **WHY THIS STORY/SERIES/WORK, ETC.?**
> 
> Several reasons!
> 
> But biggest of all, is that after 21 years of working in dangerous jobs in 5 very different countries, I have decided to pursue my lifelong dream to become a full-time fantasy fiction author. I am a lifelong reader of all fantasy genres. But I wanted my own niche, something different. No vampires, were-animals, ghosts, ghouls, wizards, witches or sorcerers for me. No world influenced by Western views or Christiandom.
> 
> Then I chanced upon _BLEACH_. 
> 
> No offence meant, but I always ignored Japanese anime/manga. To me, the genre is _monotonous_. Filled with fantastic characters and worlds which become more and more nonsensical as mangaka keep trying to outdo one another in the already overcrowded genre. I particularly disliked contemporary Japanese anime/manga for I found their mash-ups of Japanese and Western elements somehow rather - I apologise, there is simply no polite way to say this - _bastardised_. I guess I am a purist at heart!
> 
> But _BLEACH_ was different. Tite Kubo took the rich tapestries of Japanese history, cultures and beliefs and breathed a much-needed breath of fresh air into the genre. Pulled a breathtakingly unique and inimitable one-man creative coup. But much more, he left characters and premises undeveloped - all of which I found are ripe for a new kind of supernatural fantasy genre!
> 
> I found my creative niche.
> 
> Thus, I began this project. As a series of English-language, full-length novels as a remake of _BLEACH_. To expand upon the published canon but focussing instead on the older, adult key supporting characters. To give centre-stage to their characters, backstories, lives, trials and triumphs in the course of building and leading a world and its society firmly rooted in Japanese Buddhist-Shinto beliefs. Added are mythological and supernatural elements of my own original creation to respectfully tie in with Tite Kubo's original work. And in an homage to my gay cousin and all my gay friends who played pivotal roles in all my 46 years, I am planning to ask Tite Kubo to allow inclusiveness for same gender relationships.
> 
> Once again, thank you very much for your patience and love!
> 
>  **AND FINALLY FOR THE BORING DISCLAIMER I HATE TO WRITE BUT HAVE TO:** Please refer to Series Notes [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1201744).


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